Shadow and Glass
by Miss Prince
Summary: A very ethereal retelling of, or sequel to, Sleeping Beauty. Mild femslash.


A/N: This was written in response to a New Year's Resolution challenge over at Yuletide, requesting a modern retelling of a fairytale with possible femslash. It also contributed to the grade on my English final. I'm proud of it, and I hope you enjoy.

Shadow and Glass  
by Miss Prince

* * *

It was a beautiful summer day in the suburbs. The sun shone warm and bright in the pristine blue sky; the grass was a lively green on the line of perfectly manicured lawns; the buzz of bees and the chirp of birds provided a happy background hum to the morning. A young woman ambled along the gleaming white sidewalk, letting the feel and sound of the neighborhood wash over her. 

She was reasonably attractive, with long, dark hair – pulled back to keep it off her neck – and a handsome face. She was tall, though not imposing, and flat-chested, and she wore a plain shirt and jeans, which were a little uncomfortable in the hot weather, but not too much so. She had led an uneventful life in this pretty but average neighborhood, without any exceptional sorrow or joy, and she expected to continue just that sort of existence, drifting through life until its inevitable conclusion. For the moment, she simply walked without destination, lost in a pleasant daydream of no particular importance.

The woman was, in fact, so lost inside herself that for several minutes she failed to notice the car that had pulled up and was creeping down the road beside her. When she did notice, she was badly startled, for the thing was sorely out of place in the immaculate suburban environment. It was probably fifteen years old, with peeling grey-blue paint and so much rust it was a wonder the car was still in one piece. As she eyed the car suspiciously, the darkly tinted passenger window rolled down, and a voice came from inside:

"Who are you?"

The young woman peered warily into the dark interior of the car, identifying the speaker as a middle aged woman with greying hair and dark sunglasses, the sort who had been run ragged by too many children with too many places to be. At any rate, she didn't seem especially threatening, and the young woman decided to be polite.

"I'm Anne," she replied. "Is there something I can do for you?"

The driver was shaking her head, tutting quietly. "It seems like such a simple question, doesn't it, coming from a stranger? But underneath simple words can lie a wealth of meaning. Think about it." She appeared to study the young woman for a moment, making her rather uncomfortable. Then she nodded. "Anne, is it? Good to know you."

"Can I help you?" Anne repeated, as the driver had ignored the first query.

"Yes, I believe you can," the woman said quietly, almost to herself. Then, louder, she continued, "But first I must help you."

"What are you talking about?" Anne asked, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

The woman's lips twitched upwards into a faint smile. "You," she said slowly, deliberately, "believe you have lived a quiet, dare I say _boring_ life. But that is not what you are destined for." She leaned across the console, closer to Anne. "Search inside yourself," she whispered. "Can you feel it?"

Unbidden, Anne found herself turning east, eyes settling on the skyline of the distant city. The skyscrapers stretched upwards, reaching toward the heavens, stoic and magnificent. Anne felt the haze of her life move into focus: there was some great deed ahead of her, a purpose, an emptiness inside her which begged to be filled. She could feel something calling her, pulling her eastward.

"Yes, to the city," the driver spoke, and Anne tore her gaze from the horizon to look at her. "You have a great journey ahead of you: a quest which will take you farther than you can imagine." She turned away, looking out at the road.

Anne was overwhelmed by this new feeling, consumed by the quest which had been so suddenly revealed. She wanted to go – needed to go onward, toward the skyline in the distance, toward the thing which called her so insistently. How could she have been blind to this duty her entire life? How could she ignore this compulsion for so long?

"Why now?" Anne asked quietly.

"There is only now," the driver said cryptically, her gaze still turned toward the city. "You'll come to see that in time. But you must go soon. Your quest means everything."

"What happens..." Anne began quickly, bringing the driver's eyes back to hers. Her throat felt dry. "What happens if I...fail?"

Suddenly, Anne was aware of total silence. There was no hum of insects, no chirp of birds, no whistle of wind through the leaves. Even the idle of the engine was, impossibly, gone. She couldn't hear herself draw breath – or the sound of her heartbeat. Nothing. Anne kept her gaze squarely on the face before her, for she was filled with the chilling certainty that if she turned around at that moment, everything – _everything_ – would be gone. There would be only emptiness, nothingness, nonexistence.

Then she blinked, and the moment passed. She gasped a breath, just to reassure herself that she was alive, was really there. The driver chuckled with little humor and turned forward again, to the east.

"Looks like rain," she commented. Anne followed her gaze back to the skyline in the distance, and very faintly, she could make out a dark swatch of cloud forming over the heart of the city. It hadn't been there a moment ago. Anne turned back to the car, a question on her lips, only to find the driver gone, vanished as completely as if she had never existed. The car was parked as though it had been settled there by the curb for ages, the key still in the ignition.

The day suddenly seemed ominous, the sun and the sky and the grass too bright, too sharp – like a maniacal grin, full of unappeasable malice. Anne looked once more at the distant storm, an omen of the danger to come, and then she slid into the driver's seat, restarted the car, and drove off toward the beckoning city.

OoOoOoOoO

The grey car really was in danger of falling apart. It had no air conditioning, so Anne had to roll all the windows down, and the wind stung her eyes and whipped through her hair as she drove down the highway. The radio played mostly static, occasionally picking up a few ghostly tones before once again receding into an unintelligible crackle. The highway was nearly deserted, and there was little to break the monotony save the steady growth of the city before her.

The dark clouds above had spread rapidly, painting the sky a desolate grey which in turn muted the landscape into a colorless mass. The weather remained dry, however, and Anne continued unimpeded to the outskirts of the city, where the car began to rumble and cough. Anne urged it onward, but it finally broke down completely just across the bridge into downtown, and she was forced to continue on foot.

As she wandered through the streets, unsure of which direction to turn, she came across a break in the clouds which illuminated a corner where a street musician was performing. The woman was dressed in a flamboyant red outfit, which seemed all the more striking in contrast with her drab surroundings, playing an acoustic guitar and singing a cheerful tune that seemed to have no real words. Nevertheless, it was a marvelous performance, and when the song was finished Anne clapped and threw her pocketful of change into the open guitar case at the performer's feet. As she moved to continue down the street, the other woman's voice stopped her.

"Who are you?"

Anne froze for a moment at the familiar question, then turned back to find the musician looking at her expectantly. She considered for a moment. "I'm a young woman from the suburbs," she said slowly, "and there is something important I must do, though I'm not at all certain what it is." A more descriptive answer than before. "Anne," she added as an afterthought.

The musician laughed gaily. "From the suburbs, are you?" she asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Are you sure?"

Anne's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

The performer looked at her earnestly. "Think about your past," she said. "Do you have a mother?"

"Of course I do," Anne replied, puzzled at the question.

The musician leaned forward conspiratorially. "Do you remember her? Can you recall her face?"

Anne searched her memory. Certainly she had a mother; she knew she did. But try as she might, no face surfaced in her mind – no voice, no name, nothing. "Why...why can't I remember?" Anne asked, disturbed by this apparent blank in her memory.

"Do you remember your father?" the other woman pressed. "Your friends? Last year, last month...yesterday?"

A moment ago Anne had been absolutely certain she could remember all of those things. But it was as though those words, those ideas were reflections on the surface of a pond: when she reached into them, there was no substance, nothing really there at all. "No," she answered, her voice barely a whisper.

The musician nodded, her smile sympathetic. "I am sorry," she said. "But you must break the illusion to uncover the reality." She sat down next to her guitar, leaning against the brick wall of the corner building. Anne hesitated for a moment, but then she sat down as well, facing the woman.

"Do you know the story of Sleeping Beauty?" the performer asked abruptly.

The sudden change of subject surprised Anne, but she found she could recall the tale. "Yes."

"Tell me."

"...There was a princess," Anne said uncertainly, not sure where this was meant to lead. "And a prince. When the princess was born, all the fairies in the kingdom were invited to her christening – except one wicked fairy, whom everyone feared. The fairies gave all sorts of gifts to the princess: beauty, gentleness," she waved a hand, "and so on. But the wicked fairy was upset that she wasn't invited, and she came and put a spell on the baby, so when she reached her sixteenth birthday, she would prick her finger on a spinning wheel and die.

"But there was one fairy who hadn't given a gift yet. She wasn't powerful enough to lift the curse, but she changed it so that when the princess pricked her finger, she, and the whole castle full of people, would sleep for a hundred years – unless she was awakened by true love's first kiss.

"The princess turned sixteen, and even though her parents had tried to avoid the accident altogether, the wicked fairy tricked her into pricking her finger on the spinning wheel, and the castle fell into a deep sleep. But the prince, who was her childhood friend and to whom she was betrothed, came to her aid. He hacked his way through a thicket of briar that covered the castle, killed the wicked fairy, made his way to the princess, and kissed her. The kiss broke the spell, the castle awakened, and they all lived...well, happily ever after."

The musician had listened quietly to the story, and looked at Anne thoughtfully. "That is the way the story has been passed down," she agreed. "But it is not what happened." Her expression solemn, she continued. "The prince and the princess were very much in love, which is often underplayed in the telling of the tale, even though it is the most important thing. But the prince did not awaken the princess; he died, impaled upon the wicked thorns of the briar, before he could even reach the castle."

"How terrible," Anne said, upset by the different chain of events.

The musician nodded gravely. "But that isn't all. Though the final fairy had done her best, she underestimated the curse's power. A hundred years after the prince's death, the people of the castle awoke – but the princess did not." The woman looked off into the distance. "The world has grown, changed, shifted, and yet she sleeps still."

There was a long silence. Then Anne asked tentatively, "What does this have to do with me?"

The performer looked back at her, raising an eyebrow. "Why, you are at the very heart of the story," she explained.

Anne was confused. "Are you trying to tell me," she asked slowly, "that I am Sleeping Beauty? That I'm dreaming all of this?"

The other woman laughed merrily. "You shall see in time," she said. Then she pointed down the street. "Continue to the east. You will find what you seek."

Anne's eyes followed the woman's extended hand, considering her next step. She felt cold. Looking upward, she found that the break in the clouds had closed, leaving the street corner as dark and dreary as the rest of the city. When she turned back, she wasn't surprised to find the street performer gone, guitar and all.

OoOoOoOoO

Anne took the woman's advice and headed east, though she had no reference for direction save the performer's last gesture. The sky had grown darker still, the color of the clouds taking a sharp turn toward black, though the rain still refused to fall. The city became dark with shadow, and Anne found it difficult to see very far.

As she walked, she continued to probe her memory. All the things she had taken for granted as part of her history were illusion, false images projected on the walls of her mind...but she wasn't empty. There was _something_ there, a reality buried deep within her. Anne thought she could recall a face, a face which would not focus into solid features but was nevertheless there, a thing of substance merely obscured by the mist.

She soon entered a section of the city which bustled with people heading every possible direction. But they were solemn and grey, with indistinct faces lost in shadow. They didn't seem to notice Anne at all, never looking at her, just brushing past, cold and ghostly. Anne felt alone, insignificant, drowned in a sea of people who cared not whether she lived or died.

As she continued eastward, more and more of the shadowy people appeared, until she was surrounded by them, jostled and shoved without apology or even acknowledgment. Soon she feared she would be crushed, or trampled, or simply suffocate in the press of the crowd. She moved onward frantically, forcing her way through, trying to find a way out of the human maze which threatened to kill her.

And then she was past it. The bulk of the mob continued westward, and Anne continued east through the loose trickle of shadow-people that trailed behind. She took a moment to breathe deeply, eyes closed, calming her nerves.

"Who are you?"

Anne's eyes shot open at the question, and she whirled around, searching for the speaker. Her gaze finally locked on an old woman in tattered clothing, covered in grime and pushing a shopping cart filled with an eclectic jumble of broken things. With a crooked, near-toothless grin, the woman beckoned Anne towards her, retreating into an alleyway.

Cautiously, Anne followed, slipping through what remained of the grey crowd. She traveled quite a distance through the alley before she encountered the bag lady, rummaging through her cart.

The old woman looked up as she approached and repeated her question: "Who are you?"

"I don't know," Anne said helplessly. "Everything I thought I knew was a fantasy. And any true memories I have are murky and just out of reach."

The bag lady nodded sagely. "Your past is an important part of who you are," she said, her voice raspy and unpleasant to the ear, "and indeed, you cannot be complete without it. But it is not all you are. Take comfort in that." She returned to searching through her collection. "What do you remember?"

Anne shook her head. "Nothing but a face. And even that's unclear."

"Do not be afraid. You are here for a reason." Another crooked smile. "And I mean that in every sense. You are _here_ for a reason, and _you_ are here for a reason. It can only be you." Finally the woman seemed to find what she was looking for. With effort, she pulled a mirror from the very bottom of the pile.

The mirror was about the size of a checkerboard, and in stark contrast to the objects that had surrounded it, it was unbroken and unblemished in any way. Strange characters ran along the gilt frame, spelling words in languages long forgotten, and the surface was polished and clean. The old woman carefully handed the mirror to Anne.

Anne looked at the mirror and saw her reflection, as expected, but it was like looking at herself in a window; she felt if she could just shift her gaze, she could see through the glass to something beyond it. She let her eyes lose focus, looking past her reflection – and she found something there. A face – the same as the face from deep in her memory – floated, hazy and distorted. As Anne stared into the mirror, the image became gradually sharper, detail filling in and gaining form, until she found herself gazing into the face of a young woman – a princess.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, with long copper hair spread across silk sheets, her delicate features soft in sleep. Anne's eyes trailed over rose-colored lips and porcelain skin to rest upon closed eyes with long, dark lashes. She knew, impossibly, that the hidden eyes were green, and could sparkle in a manner that invoked images of light playing across faceted emeralds, reflecting radiantly from the surface, but also shining bright and clear through the depths.

Anne discovered an aching, desperate loneliness awakening within her, a feeling that belied her youth, stretching for ages beyond any mortal lifespan. She reached toward the princess, longing to touch her, only to have her fingers stop short against the cool glass of the mirror. She let out a strangled cry, tears stinging her eyes, the emptiness a torture she simply could not bear.

"Continue through the alley until you reach the main road, and then turn east once more."

Anne looked up, but the bag lady was gone, cart and all. When she returned her eyes to the mirror, she could see nothing but her own reflection. Anne sank down against the wall and wept.

She sat there in the shadows of the alley for an unknown length of time, clutching the mirror to her chest as the tears washed down her cheeks. She cried until the freshness of the pain had gone, and until the loneliness had settled in her chest, a part of her she could endure. Then she stood slowly, mirror held tightly in her hands, and continued on her journey.

OoOoOoOoO

The rain still refused to fall. Overhead, branches of lightning lanced out into the air, casting the grey world momentarily in ghoulish black and white and making the shadows as impenetrable as obsidian. Afterwards thunder cracked loudly, as though the universe was trying to shatter itself into a million pieces.

Anne knew she was close to her final destination. This place was different – twisted, abandoned. A thick layer of dust covered the street, and cars were scattered around in disrepair, left to rust for what might have been eons. The buildings were _wrong_, somehow; they jutted out at irrational angles, curved and slanted into the patterns of optical illusions, impossible to exist in three dimensions – and some of the skyscrapers didn't line up; the top floors were shifted, the way a straw appears to bend at the point where air meets water. It was a place out of time, wretched and menacing.

A lightning bolt suddenly lashed at one of the towers, shattering the windows and sending a spray of glass crashing to the ground below. Anne flung herself against a wall, breathing hard, but there were no entryways or alcoves, only unforgiving brick and steel, and she could do nothing but continue.

Anne kept her mind from the lightning, about which she could do nothing, by thinking of the princess, trying to uncover more memories. She could only find fragments: the young woman walking through a garden, dancing gracefully in an empty ballroom, smiling fondly, affection shining in her eyes. Anne wanted so much to remember, to put these pieces into some coherent whole, to know her own place in these images.

She stopped, holding the mirror away from herself, and looked down into it, trying to shift her gaze as before. Nothing. She couldn't see past her own reflection.

Without warning, another tongue of lightning stabbed out of the sky, squarely striking the glass, sending sparks flying. But the mirror did not break, and Anne kept her hold on it, though the sparks burned as they brushed past her arms. And when the moment passed and Anne looked into the mirror once more, it was no longer empty.

A young man gazed solemnly back from behind the glass, dark hair swept back from his face. He was dressed finely in a navy cloak and tunic, and he carried himself regally – the prince, of course. But Anne found her attention caught by her own reflection again, and what she saw made her freeze. She saw her own face laid over the prince's – the curve of the brow, the thin line of the lips, the dark grey gaze of the eyes...all the same.

Memories flooded in. She remembered growing up with the princess, laughing together as children, adventuring in the forest, speaking with her late at night. A short lifetime. She remembered the castle, looming above her, covered in a thicket of briar. She remembered blood, and pain, and despair, with the wicked fairy's eyes gleaming cruelly from the impending darkness.

She remembered dying.

The mirror slipped from her fingers and shattered upon the ground, destroying the image, but it hardly mattered. Anne knew now: what she had been, and what she must do. In the distance, a lone skyscraper towered above the rest, wreathed in lightning. Anne set course for the tower, where the princess awaited.

OoOoOoOoO

This skyscraper, unlike those that surrounded it, did have a door. It was ancient and derelict, and though it had perhaps once been imposing, the lock and hinges had rusted badly. When Anne pressed her shoulder into it and shoved, it creaked loudly and fell into the entryway, giving her access to the building.

It resembled a twisted version of a hospital. Beds with yellowing sheets that had at one time been white and rusting IV stands stood in the rooms, and various types of equipment were strewn about what could have been laboratories. But it was mazelike and disorienting, with passages that doubled back on themselves and staircases that wound in peculiar directions.

Anne wandered through the warped hallways uncertainly – but not aimlessly. She could feel an insistent pull, leading her in the right direction, guiding her through the maze. Although she took several wrong turns, she eventually found herself standing in front of an elevator. Beside it, the upward arrow glowed faintly, a hole where the downward arrow should have been indicating it had been lost long ago.

Anne pressed the glowing arrow, and miraculously, despite the decay of the building and its surroundings, the doors slid smoothly open, revealing the dimly lit box of the elevator's interior. Anne carefully stepped in, and the elevator held her weight. She pressed the button for the highest floor, and the doors closed before she was carried upward.

The elevator rose for a long time, Anne standing in silence near the back wall. Finally it slowed and stopped, and the doors opened on a long, narrow hallway. Unlike its counterparts on the floors below, this hall was perfectly straight, and the walls were smooth, devoid of doorways or decoration, though the paint was cracked and stained. Anne walked forward down the passage.

It ended abruptly in a circular room with large windows to the left and right and a heavy door on the far side. Anne could see the lightning flash just outside, the black clouds seeming to press against the glass.

"Well done."

A figure leaned against the door, face obscured by the angle of the light. Like the beginnings of the storm which now covered the sky, she had simply appeared between one instant and the next. From within the shadow, she continued, "You have journeyed far to reach this place, and for that I commend you." The voice was familiar in a peculiar way, but Anne couldn't quite place it. "But," the figure said, "there is one challenge left for you." And she stepped forward, the light falling across her face – the face of the wicked fairy.

Anne tensed and took a step back, eying her warily. The fairy laughed, and Anne could see the echo of illusion cross her face...the driver...the musician...the old woman...

"You've been helping me all along," Anne said slowly. A pause. "But...why?"

The fairy's smile turned melancholy. "There is much to tell," she said, looking out the window into the storm. And Anne could see in her a great weariness, an age which could not be measured merely in years. They stood in silence for a long moment as the fairy gathered her thoughts.

"Magic is a binding thing," she said quietly. "I overestimated my control, my power. My own curse has trapped me here, long after I should have gone. And for what? Petty jealousy, and mindless revenge. I was a fool, and I have paid dearly for it."

Her eyes shifted to Anne's face, though her head did not turn. "The world has moved on, beyond the age of fairies. We three are all that remain of that other time. But things cannot continue, cannot fully change until this ordeal is resolved, and the curse undone."

Anne looked back, uncertain. "Why us?" she asked, seeking to understand. "Why now?"

"Love," the fairy answered simply, turning to face Anne completely. "It is a most potent magic, and true love the most powerful and dangerous of all. The princess loved you above all else, and when you died, she refused to live without you. And so it was love that left her sleeping after a hundred years had passed, love that would not allow the spell to break, keeping me prisoner for so long. And it was love that brought you to this moment, right now."

She paused for a moment, studying Anne's face. "This cannot be easy," she said. "The magic is old, and there is a role I must play. But, I beg of you, break this curse, and set all of us free. It has been such a long time." She strode forward, placing a hand on Anne's shoulder and looking into her eyes.

"Who are you?"

Anne opened her mouth to reply, to say she was the prince...but the words died in her throat. No. That wasn't right. She thought of the things she had learned, the past she'd uncovered and the journey she'd made. And there was only one answer.

"I'm Anne."

The fairy smiled widely, looking as though a heavy burden had finally been lifted from her shoulders. "Thank you," she whispered, and shattered like glass, the fragments breaking into smaller and smaller pieces, hanging like dust in the air for a moment before vanishing forever. Outside, a gentle rain began to fall.

OoOoOoOoO

Beyond the door was a staircase, which Anne climbed steadily upwards to the top of the building, emerging into a hospital room which contained nothing but a single large bed. The room was immaculate, the white paint unmarred, the white bedsheets clean and untainted by age. And upon the bed lay the princess, regal and perfect, dressed in a white gown.

Anne approached her quietly, feeling the gravity of the moment. The princess's chest rose and fell so slowly that she seemed almost not to breathe at all, and yet she did not seem sickly, not dead – only sleeping. Anne gazed at her, her heart swelling at the sight.

Slowly, she reached out to brush her hand softly across the princess's cheek, feeling the faint warmth of life in her. And then Anne bent down and gently, tenderly, kissed her.

After an instant – or perhaps an eternity – she pulled back. The princess breathed deeply once, twice...and her eyes fluttered open, the deep green gaze fixing on her rescuer.

"Anne," she said affectionately, a smile curving the corner of her lips, and Anne smiled back.

The world shifted around them as they looked at each other, the room filling with furniture and equipment. A ghostly hum echoed in the room, soon becoming the sound of voices as people appeared, at first faintly, but quickly growing solid. A heart monitor began to beep.

Anne felt a hand touch her shoulder and turned to see a man standing there – a doctor. "She'll be just fine," he told her, smiling. Then he retreated through the doorway, followed shortly by the assortment of nurses who had been bustling around the room.

Anne looked back at her princess, both of them now ordinary women in a world without fairies or curses or magical quests. The journey was over, the world was brand new, and they could start their lives again, together. Anne leaned forward to kiss the princess once more.

And they lived happily ever after.


End file.
